


Mistletoe Can Be Deadly

by auchic



Category: Alias
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Vaughn-bashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-13
Updated: 2012-11-13
Packaged: 2017-11-18 13:54:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/561778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auchic/pseuds/auchic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sark and Syd meet up on a mission, blah, blah, blah, eventually smut…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistletoe Can Be Deadly

Sark adjusted his tuxedo jacket around his shoulders before picking up his drink and downing it in one shot. The liquor burned down his throat, but quickly warmed him inside. He motioned to the bartender to get him another one, then turned to watch the festivities before his eyes. He picked up his refilled drink and sauntered away, sipping much slower now. 

He hated Christmas. He especially hated all these rich saps who threw humongous parties Christmas Eve to display their wealth to all the other rich saps pretending to be their friends. He rolled his eyes as he watched the pretentious idiots around him act as if every person in the room was their best friend, when in actuality, most of the men and women around him couldn’t stand each other. 

He fought the urge to slam his second drink back like the first one. _He needed to be on his best behaviour tonight,_ he thought sarcastically, mimicking Sloane’s words in his head. For some reason, the old bastard was adamant that tonight not be a failure, and so he had spent a good two hours lecturing Sark on the consequences of letting this opportunity get away from them. By the time Sark could adequately make the excuse that he needed to get ready, he was seconds away from taking out his gun and beating Sloane to death with it. Fuck Irina and her plans. Sark didn’t need to put up with that condescending old prick. 

He sipped his drink again. One thing about these parties: as much as he hated them, they usually provided the best brands of alcohol, so to impress their guests. And of course, there was no charge. Only the _nouveau riche_ charged their guests for drinks. Old money would be offended at that obvious gouge for money. If you needed to get your guests to pay for their drinks, you shouldn’t be having these types of parties in the first place. 

He brushed impatiently past a heavily decorated conifer, grimacing when some of the fake snow that had been sprayed on its branches fell to his tuxedo jacket. He swiped it away and chanced a peek at his watch. His contact was late, and he was getting annoyed. The sooner he completed this deal, the sooner he could leave these idiotic twats and get off home and leave all this Christmas holiday shit behind. Maybe he’d call up one of his favourite girls and have his own little private party. He was feeling that familiar restlessness, both from the alcohol and his recent run-ins with a certain goddess with a gun who had been plaguing his thoughts recently. 

His cell phone vibrated urgently at his hip. He plucked it out and turned himself into a shadow in the wall. “What?” he snapped. He listened for a moment, then clicked the phone off violently, squeezing the tiny mechanical device hard enough to crush the delicate instrument. He fought back the urge to throw his glass at the wall, settling for downing the rest of the liquid and weaving back to the bartender for another. Fuck Sloane, he was going to get good and drunk tonight. The phone call had been from one of his lackeys who had been keeping an eye on the contact. Apparently the man’s affinity for hookers was greater than any of them had assumed; the idiot was locked in his room and not planning on making an appearance until 11 PM, regardless of the fact that he had planned to meet Sark much before that hour. 

Sark peeked at his watch again and cursed. It was only quarter to nine. Whenever this jackass decided to grace this party with his loathsome presence, Sark was going to kick his ass five ways from Sunday after getting the information. Not wanting to be at this party in the first place, he cursed the man in every language he could for forcing him to stand around smiling like an idiot and making boring small talk with rich fat old people for another TWO HOURS. Fuck protocol, fuck Sloane, Irina, fuck it all. He was going to get good and drunk, then look for some willing woman or two to pass the next couple hours with. 

He grabbed his double Scotch and turned around, letting his eyes sweep over the ballroom. He was sipping the drink and letting the alcohol warm him when his eyes hit a flash of red and he nearly choked. Speaking of the goddess…

_Well, **fuck** me._

**********************************

Sydney Bristow smiled politely at the gentleman who had just kissed her hand, turned gracefully and walked over to one of the heavily laden food tables that had been set up. She picked up a sugar cookie and bit into it, the treat hiding the sudden drop in her facial features and the folds of her dress hiding her other hand, which was now clenched in a furious fist. When she became aware that no one was paying attention to her, she heaved an impatient sigh and let her body flop into a comfy chair. 

The _fucking_ CIA. As soon as she worked up the nerve, she was going to walk into Kendall’s office and tell them all to kiss her ass. It was bad enough that she was all tarted up and supposed to seduce the information out of some horny old man, but did it have to be in England on Christmas Eve? She had been looking forward to spending the holidays snuggled up in her apartment with eggnog, chocolate, a blanket, funny stories, hanging with Will and Francie and just spending Christmas like she always did, only now without the pressure of SD-6 weighing on her mind. And plus it was supposed to be her first special holiday with Vaughn…

Vaughn. Sydney cursed creatively and crossed her legs, pressing them together and bouncing her foot. She knew she didn’t look as elegant and poised as she should but she didn’t give a fuck. She wriggled around a bit and her face flushed a bit when she finally hit the sweet spot and a warm shot of arousal hit her body. She wished she could find herself a quiet solitary room and relieve the pressure between her legs. She needed to. That’s why she was cursing Vaughn so much. 

She sighed. Really, it wasn’t _his_ fault, she mused. That wonderful first time after the thrill of taking down SD-6 and sharing their first kiss had been incredible for her. Maybe that was the problem. They had needed that heart-pounding risk to push her over the edge. 

Oh, fuck the euphemisms. That first time was the only time that Sydney had ever truly hit climax with Vaughn and it was killing her. He wasn’t _bad_ in bed. It was just…Sydney needed so much more than what he considered foreplay. She also needed a semblance of control in the bedroom and damned if Vaughn would give it to her. He was content for them to crawl into bed, he would climb on top, massage her breast a bit, give himself a few pumps for good measure and then they’d go at it. Or rather, Vaughn would thrust into her, she’d lie there smiling and moaning every so often until he came and she could give a sigh to let him know she was good too. He’d then kiss her, roll off and onto his side away from her and promptly fall asleep, while she’d grip the sheets, fighting her hands not to wander between her legs and finish the job. She couldn’t even go off to the bathroom to help herself, because she tended to have very vocal orgasms and she wasn’t about to let Vaughn know that she wasn’t satisfied. He actually became _embarrassed_ whenever she brought up the subject of their sex life, never mind her trying to spice things up. It didn’t help that her dreams had gotten out of hand and she was waking up more aroused than when she had fallen asleep. Oh, if she ever saw a certain gorgeous assassin again…

So she blamed herself for tonight. Okay, Vaughn’s eyes had nearly popped out of his head when she had stepped out of the bathroom, all ready to go. She didn’t blame him. If she was a lesbian, she’d sure as hell jump herself, if that were possible. The dress was a cheery, holiday red, strapless, clinging tightly to her chest like a bodice. It flared at her hips, giving a gentle feminine swirl all the way down to her knees, where the dress ended. She had curled her hair to perfection and pinned it up, keeping her neck free from the silky strands. Strappy heels that wound up her ankles graced her feet, small dangly silver teardrops hung from her lobes and a silver choker sat expertly on her swanlike neck. Her jewelry doubled as her comm. for tonight, a perfectly placed diamond centered on the choker her microphone. He had gulped when she spun in front of him and asked his opinion on her appearance in a purring voice. The look in his eyes had prompted her to straddle his lap and hope to god he would shag the nervousness right out of her, but despite her aggressiveness, it turned right into their normal boring routine. 

And he’d sent her off, all hot and bothered and horny as hell. If she were going to have to fight tonight, she’d vent her frustrations out on anyone who happened to look at her the wrong way. But it probably still wouldn’t kill that fiery urge she needed to get rid of. And she needed to do something fast, because it was affecting her concentration, and that just wouldn’t do at all. Spy!Barbie needed to be at her top form tonight. No telling whom she would run into. Ah, the joys of the spy world. 

She stood from her chair, picked up a glass of champagne and let her eyes sweep over the garishly decorated room. Where the fuck was this guy? She just wanted to get this over with and hopefully she and Vaughn could catch a quick flight and make it back to LA by midnight, and spend a normal Christmas together, instead of this farce. She smiled graciously at a few people, ignoring the old men whose eyes became more probing the more they drank. She rolled her eyes at the lifestyles of the rich. Get drunk, throw lavish stupid parties, and occasionally get mixed up with some variously illegal business so that the CIA could send her in to take them down. The things done in the name of the almighty dollar. 

A pair of hands slid around her waist and she was about to turn and correct this impudent, possibly inebriated jerk with a quick knee to his groin when that cool, creamy accent nearly brought her to her knees. Speaking of that assassin…

“So lovely to see you again, Ms. Bristow.”

*************************************

Sark wasn’t sure if it was luck or God’s way of playing with him when his eyes locked onto Sydney Bristow. Fuck, she looked good. No, she looked fucking hot. Good god, he was getting hard just looking at her. He watched her wind her way around the room, picking up a glass of champagne and bringing it up to those lush lips that he was dying to taste. Those erotic doe eyes did a cursory sweep over the room and he ducked behind a vulgar snowman just in time. He didn’t want her spotting him until just the right moment. 

He knew what she was here for: the same thing he was cursing himself for agreeing to. No, not agreeing, being forced into doing, because he was Sloane’s whipping boy. He wondered if she knew that the contact was going to be late, that she’d have to flit around the room and interact with these idiots for another two hours. Probably not. He wasn’t surprised the CIA had found out about this simple operation, but he’d be damned if they’d keep tabs like he did. Though, having Sydney Bristow around would solve him the problem of how to keep himself occupied for that time. It may not be sex, but sometimes those aching moments of flirty banter they had was million times better than any rich bitch he could bed. 

He slid halfway into view again, searching desperately for her. She was no longer looking his way, but he kept himself close to the wall, so he could follow behind her, sneak up and catch her off guard. Oh Jesus, it was going to take some strong willpower not to slide his hands around that perfect body and cup those gorgeous breasts, maybe attach his lips to that little hollow on her neck and suck on that beautiful white skin. His mind was already foggy from the drinks he had consumed, so it was going to be hell to be even two feet away from her. And two feet was _way_ too far for his liking. 

Good Christ, he had to start controlling himself before he pushed her up against a Christmas tree and gave her reason to blast his head off. He’d been awed to the point of dumbness when he first met Sydney Bristow, and the more time he had spent around her, the more he wanted to _really_ know her. Not just to fuck her, although that wasn’t off the list. No, he wanted _her_ , Sydney, every beautiful sexy part of her. It wasn’t just her body that attracted him; it was her as a whole package, mind, body, and that wild free passionate spirit. 

He followed her across the room, her head turning every so often to glance around and recognize who she was looking for. He sipped his drink slower now, wanting not to be too drunk when he finally encountered her. He knew because of the setting, she couldn’t attack him openly, so she’d probably be amenable to a dance if he approached her politely and asked her as if he was some random fellow captivated by her beauty. He’d have to do something about the CIA-issued microphone, but that’d be the easy part. The hardest would be having her in his arms, dancing with her around the room, but he’d burn that bridge when he came to it. He wasn’t some horny teenager and she certainly wasn’t the first woman who turned him on. Although, she was the first one in a long time who aroused him simply with her hatred of him. And his pants were getting uncomfortably tight, so there was something special about her. He just hated admitting it. 

Ah! There it was! She had sauntered to a darker corner of the room, near a doorway that partitioned off to a more intimate room that housed the powder rooms. Her hips were swaying a bit to the music, and if she hadn’t been on a mission, he could almost swear that she was at about his state of inebriation. He quickened his pace, as she paused, her eyes traveling once more over the growing raucous group. He sensed a bit of panic in her; she couldn’t find her target and she was getting antsy, probably thinking of the various things that could have gone wrong. He’d better make his move soon, or she’d be talking to that damned handler of hers, and he might just convince her to give up and come back to him for a randy shag. 

He slipped behind her unnoticed and before he knew what he was doing, his hands were skimming that flawless waist and his lips were bent toward that delicious looking ear, his voice low and husky. “So lovely to see you again, Ms. Bristow.”

So much for the polite offer of a dance.

*********************************

Sydney froze as the voice that had been haunting her dreams with erotic moans and sensuous whispers filled her ear. Unconsciously she leaned back into the body that was mere inches from her back, and nearly let out a gasp of pleasure when the soft material of his tux hit her bare shoulder. Her blood pressure shot up, her heart began to pound and she could swear that her temperature was ten degrees higher. She was seconds away from snuggling herself in his embrace before the sensible part of her brain finally emerged bruised and beaten and screamed, _What the hell are you doing?!?!?_

Shit. She jerked her body away and whipped herself around, the hem of her dress cutting into his knees. “Sark,” she hissed, her voice trying like hell to sound pissed, but coming out more seductive than anything. “You fucking bastard, what the hell do you want?”

Sweet Jesus, she shouldn’t have turned. He was much closer now and her resolve threatened to melt when her eyes hit his face. Her Benedict Arnold mind suddenly pictured that face from one of her more explicit dreams, twisted in ecstasy, and that ache between her legs burned out of control. Oh, for fuck’s sake, she was not going to let Sark turn her on. The various parts of her brain began that violent scuffle for control again and if she was a betting woman, the sensible part had about the same chance as a snowball’s in hell. 

God, why couldn’t evil affect the outer countenance, like Dorian Gray’s portrait? Black Armani tux, fitted to that lithe body like a glove. Dove gray vest with a white shirt underneath, band collar with a silver button, no tie. That untamable gorgeous blonde hair was somewhat subdued, she almost hoped without any styling product until she remembered she wasn’t supposed to care. The smirk was on full-force, but there was no missing the sensual look in those crystal ice eyes. Fuck he was hotter than the devil himself. She clenched her hands again at her side to keep herself from ripping that shirt off his body and letting her tongue explore the sinewy contours of that rippled chest…holy shit, she needed to get herself under control standing this close to him. 

Fucking Vaughn. She needed release and she needed it now. Fuck the mission, she was going to find the nearest bathroom and…

“Syd? Are you there? What about Sark?” Shit, she forgot Vaughn could hear her. Okay, this night was going on her sh*t list. She saw Sark’s smirk widen, then he raised one of the hands still holding her waist (why the hell she hadn’t told him to get his hands off, she didn’t want to contemplate) to her ear, traced the outline of her ear and down her neck so slowly that she shivered and he leaned in as if to kiss her. At last moment his head turned to the side and his lips brushed her ear, his fingers closing over her choker as he whispered, “I have some vital information to share with you, but I need you to get rid of your conscience first.”

She nearly whimpered when his hot breath hit her fevered skin, and to punctuate his words, his tongue darted out and barely, just barely, flicked her earlobe. Christ, this went _waaaaaaaaaay_ beyond the normal flirting for both of them, but she was past caring. If Sark didn’t get away from her soon, she was going to break. That was not good. Especially not with Vaughn in her ear. Speaking of that…

“Vaughn,” she managed to keep her voice semi-cool, even though it was trembling the slightest bit. Sark’s fingers were tracing her collarbone ever so lightly. God, she was either going to kill him or fuck him. Either one was acceptable. “There’s been a slight issue. Sark’s here. I’m going radio silent until I get what we came for.”

“Syd, that’s not a good idea.” Oh great, now he was worried, all ready to storm in here guns blazing, to sweep her away valiantly. She rolled her eyes and by the looks of Sark’s smirk, he didn’t miss her impatience with her boyfriend. She shot him a furious look, but he didn’t move away from her, didn’t remove his hand from her body. Of course, she hadn’t really _demanded_ that he do so, but he was smart enough to get her non-verbal hints, and there was another problem right there. _Fuck!_

“Vaughn, I’ll be fine,” she snapped, then winced as she realized how harsh that sounded. The tension was killing her, but she still had to be civil. Her voice softened, “Look, I can take care of myself around that jackass. Just sit tight; I’m sure everything will be over sooner than later.” Before she could catch any protests on his end, she fiddled with the diamond and turned it a half turn so it would no longer transmit her words to her partner. Her hand caught Sark’s and threw it down, and she took a step back, away from that fiery heat that was shimmering throughout her entire body. 

_Deep breath Syd. You can do this, just fix him with the stink-eye and find out what he wants, then kick his ass halfway to Paris._ The sensible part of her brain had emerged from the dog pile to get its opinion in, but when Sark stepped up to her again, the rest of her mind brought him back to the scuffle. Well, the brain was useless as of now. “So Sark,” she spat, “What was so important that can only be for my ears alone? What do you want?”

The hand still resting on her hip (what the _hell_ , Syd?) slithered around her waist, and he laced his other hand with one resting by her side and lifted it. “May we dance, Ms. Bristow?” his low silky voice resonated through her and she almost pressed herself into him, ready to let him sweep her around the floor…

NO! SHIT! “No! What the hell is wrong with you? Tell me what you have to tell me, or go fuck yourself. I’m not in the mood for games tonight.” Good, good, establish control, do not look into those sensual blue eyes…DAMN IT, SYD!

He looked taken aback for a moment, but all vestiges of uncertainty disappeared and that sexy arrogance returned. “Ms. Bristow,” and now he was leaning down and his voice was in her ear again, that breath killing her nerves, “We’re causing a scene. Please, I just ask for one dance, and these idiots will go back to ignoring us.” He inched his body closer as he spoke, and control was gone. God, she wanted him, she wasn’t about to let him know that, but she figured if she did this one dance with him, she could get the hell out of there and go back to simply dreaming of him. No! Shit. 

Fuck it. Just give in and flirt back. One dance, whip him into as much of a sexual frenzy as she was in, and then get the damned job done. Their banter was just as much a part of the game as the fighting and stealing was. More enjoyable too. She gave him a curt nod, and relaxed her body slightly, wanting him to just whisk her off into a quick waltz or something around the room, exchange a few words heavily laden with innuendo, make a few inappropriate strokes of skin, and be done with it. Maybe then she’d have the nerve to fuck the entire mission and convince Vaughn to go back home. 

Unfortunately, or maybe it was God’s way of amusing Himself, but the lively music ended right at that point and a slow, sensual mournful tune started up. Suddenly the lights were dimmer and the space around them became more intimate. She moved closer to be able to see Sark’s face and his arm pulled tighter around her waist. She looked up and her breath caught in her throat when she saw the candlelight catch his eyes. Well, fuck her. The burning desire she glimpsed was her undoing. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. 

So much for that quick waltz.

***********************************

Sark was nearly dying as she leaned into his embrace, even though she must’ve recognized his voice. God, her waist was so small, her body heaving with a quick, frozen breath, then collapsing under his hands. She looked, felt, scented of heaven itself. All he needed was one taste of that perfect skin and he could die a complete man. He was so close to believing she would just give in and he could take her off to a more intimate spot, when she stiffened and whipped around, that satiny dress hitting his knees in a flourish. 

Oh that face. That angelic, perfectly unmarred face that he pasted next to every woman he ever met, setting them to her standards. Twisted in fury right now, but he’d seen other expressions cross those features, mostly in his dreams, those agonizing climactic dreams. Oh Jesus, he was doing such a perfect job; he couldn’t lose it just by letting his eyes sweep over that body, the one he ached to grab, rip that dress off and slam up against the wall as he kissed the breath out of her…

_Christ don’t let your eyes go lower!_ his mind screamed, but his dick was doing most of the thinking now and so the face was gone and now that swanlike neck, those creamy round shoulders, those nubile soft breasts hidden underneath the swath of red. Down, down to the waist he still clung to (why hadn’t she tore his hands off?), over those slim hips, down the legs, those ankles surrounded by those straps…god, even her _ankles_ turned him on!

Eventually he returned to her face and fixed his smirk on tight. God, those eyes! Sometimes brown, sometimes a green, always fiery, even when filled with tears or snapping with fire and anger. “Sark,” she hissed, but it wasn’t filled with its usual hatred, well not as strong. No, there was something else there…fear, anticipation, frustration, desire? Oh yes. He recognized that tone. “You fucking bastard, what the hell do you want?” Oh praise Jesus, she was horny as hell, and he turned her on. 

He was ready to purr out a reply laden with sexual need when a faint crackling came to be and he could barely hear the worried voice of her handler, Agent Idiot. Fucking jerk. He’d ruined a perfectly flirtatious moment. Should have taken care of him when he had that chance with the virus. Oh but even though her _boyfriend_ had interrupted, she still didn’t jerk her body away from his warmth and he was going to use that to his advantage. He could see her working up the words to reply neutrally, so he reluctantly drew one hand from her hips to trace that delicate little ear, the one he was bending his mouth down to. The first touch of skin on skin nearly killed him, but he did the job without trembling, tracing a heated path down that lovely neck until he covered the very obvious microphone hidden in that gaudy fake diamond. 

“I have some vital information to share with you, but I need you to get rid of your conscience first.” He felt her tense with those words, saw her eyes widen, narrow, the flash of need in them out of the corner of his own. Oh good, she wasn’t really trying to fight it then. He let his fingers drop to lay feather light touches to her collarbone, and good god that alone was enough to do him in. Oh, and just for good measure, he flicked his tongue out, tasted that smooth skin of her ear and his cock jerked to life against his pants. Oh yes. Oh, it tasted so good. He needed more. Oh, he could get drunk on that skin.

She tried to speak evenly, but the slightest tremble betrayed her even more. “Vaughn. There’s been a slight issue. Sark’s here. I’m going radio silent until I get what we came for.” Get what _they_ came for? Oh no, he had no intention of including Agent Yawn in on whatever was going to happen. Because something was going to happen or the sexual tension was going to kill them both. He felt the second round of alcohol hit his veins and a hot sensation uncoiled in his belly. Shit, he was going to have to stop touching her or he’d practically come right there. 

Sark heard that annoying voice again (no, not the one in his head), this time much more worried and he saw the frustration visibly this time. Ah. He had a pretty good idea what this was about. He just _knew_ that Agent Wrinkles wouldn’t be able to satisfy Sydney’s sexual needs. The man lived and breathed CIA protocol, so you knew his sex life was something that you could clinically describe in a manual. He smirked more at that, and the goddess caught it, and shot him a pissed look. She was still allowing him to hold her waist gently, swaying a bit to the music, so she wasn’t as mad as she wanted him to seem. Poor Sydney. Never let your body betray what’s really on your mind. 

“Vaughn, I’ll be fine. Look, I can take care of myself around that jackass. Just sit tight; I’m sure everything will be over sooner than later.” Impatience and anger this time…could it be she was sick of the knight in shining armour? God, he hoped so, she needed so much more than that. Oh, the knight needed to make an appearance, but she was no helpless princess being held by the dragon, crying out for Sir Galahad. Sydney Bristow could take care of herself, and Michael Vaughn couldn’t handle that. And one day, he’d get the verbal equivalent of a bitch slap for it, or maybe a real slap. Sark just wished he could have a video camera to capture that moment and savour it forever. 

He watched her shaky hand flick off the microphone, then suddenly grasp his hand on her shoulder, yank it down and step away. Damn. She was fighting him and she was angry. He was going to have to step up the seduction with more blatant means. Then again, his other hand was still hooked on her waist, albeit a little farther away, but he could still run with that. Uh oh, there was that famous glare. And she was trying so hard to lace it with the usual hatred and fury that he had come to expect with it, but the lust must be driving now because every other part of her body was fighting the eyes. “So Sark,” she spat, “What was so important that can only be for my ears alone? What do you want?”

Oh. My. Yes. Stop the obvious remark from leaving the lips, boy. God, he was dying to touch her. How could he justify touching her. What? Oh, right, music. So? Wait…dancing! Yes, good, dancing, holding in arms, against body. Very good idea. He nearly grimaced. It was obvious his cock did not have the brains that…well, his _brain_ did, but it was running the show and would be until he could find a cold shower. Or a private room; with or without Sydney there would be fine, but he’d prefer with. Oh, she was warming now that the little voice wasn’t in her head anymore. He slid the hand on her hip around her waist…don’t groan with pleasure, you don’t need a slap right now…pulled her to him, and laced his fingers with the hand she had yanked his away with. Oh dear sweet Jesus, they were nearly body-to-body now. Fight the urge, fight it, don’t let her see your desire or she’ll kick the living shit out of you. 

“May we dance, Ms. Bristow?” Oh, not good with the deep huskiness, just a little too much to cross the line from playful flirt to horny college boy. Oh, and she’s leaning in and oh god he’s going to crack soon and then that stupid conscience of hers stepped in. “No! What the hell is wrong with you? Tell me what you have to tell me, or go fuck yourself. I’m not in the mood for games tonight.” Ouch. Okay, that one hurt, and she’s pissed, and back in control. Or…wait, she’s not looking at you in the eye…catch the eyes, catch the eyes…YES!! Oh, she’s so close, just the perfect line to convince her to dance with him, that’s all he needed. He looked around and saw a few drunken glances. Not that he cared what these idiots thought, but oh was that ever a perfect excuse. 

Okay Sark. You are in control. Just lean in to that ear, that luscious ear you tasted, whisper the words…that’s right. “Ms. Bristow. We’re causing a scene. Please, I just ask for one dance, and these idiots will go back to ignoring us.” She looked around and he knew he had her, so he stepped in closer, just to assert his arrogance, and he watched the struggle, waiting, waiting on tenterhooks for her to give in to him. He caught that sweet moment when her mind gave up control to the more…intimate parts of her body, much like his had, and resigned herself to the dance. Too bad it wasn’t a slower tune, he mused as he prepared himself. Then, as if God was rewarding him for some deed, the music changed, a sensual tune that would require them to dance much closer, and the overhead lights were switched off, blanketing the room in just the glow of the candlelight. An intimate sexy song that, if danced to right, it would almost be like making love; that’s how raw this music was. He silently thanked each and every deity he could think of for this chance, and when he caught Sydney’s eye, he no longer masked the fierce lust. Oh god, he needed her to see how much he wanted her. 

She looked almost taken aback, her eyes widening, and he was sure she would have turned and run if he could let her go. She stood stock-still and he let her catalogue this information before he let her make her decision. She swallowed hard and drew herself right up to his body, her lust now open and blazing as well for all to read. Her head rested on his shoulder and he closed his eyes, reveling in that one sweet moment. They started to sway sinuously to the tune, just another drunken couple reacting to the music and the mutual attraction. He was in heaven, or somewhere very, very near that place, with her resting in his arms. Her free arm had come around his back, drawing up his spine so tenderly he shivered and finally laid itself on his neck, twirling the soft-spun curls that decorated the sensitive skin on his neck. He almost moaned with pleasure, and shifted his hips so his very obvious erection would stay slightly hidden. 

Sydney sighed softly, breathing in the succulent scent of his cologne and pressed her head tighter into his chest. Oh, she was very happy, right there in his arms. If only it could last forever…well, shit. She now had to remember that she was on a mission, and she was looking for someone. She had a gnawing feeling that that very thing was what Sark had wanted to talk to her about. 

Okay. Damn. Just ask him, get it over with and then you can lose yourself in this dance. “Sark?” she asked quietly, but her voice was too quiet, much too low. DAMN! No, keep your head in his chest. Don’t ruin the moment!

“Mmm?” he purred. God, that rumble sounds even sexier when she’s right next to his body. His hand on her waist moved to the small of her back, a very erotic part of her body and began to rub small circles. Oh that feels good. Oh, does she ever want to jump him. Oh, fuck, he’s waiting for her to talk!

“What was it you so desperately had to talk with me about that you needed such a private locale?” she murmured with just the right amount of flirtation. Oh yes. 

Sark had been wrapped in the moment and so his brain didn’t register right away what she had asked. The idiot contact! Oh, yes, that. Stupid goddamned fucking Sloane. He was sure Sydney was cursing the CIA just as fluently for this op. Then again, the way her fingers danced over his neck, he wasn’t too sure. 

“As you know, Sydney,” no longer needed to be professional, this moment called for the intimacy of first names. At least, her first name. They’d get to his later, maybe. “Recently we’ve been seeing a lot of each other, so I’d assume we’re here tonight for the same thing. You’ve been informed that a certain man has a certain bit of information that both our employers are wanting to get their hands on?” He felt her nod, and a small hum of assent crept out. Oh, he wanted to hear that sound again, louder, and in different circumstances. “Well, I received a phone call just moments before we happened to meet, and it seems that our mark his deigned to make an appearance until 11.”

“Fuck!” he heard her spit out, and he smiled, arching an eyebrow. 

“My thoughts exactly.”

“So,” she continued evenly. “I’m stuck here for…what time is it now?”

“Nine PM.”

“SHIT! Two whole fucking hours? What the hell am I supposed to do for that time?”

Oh, he could think of a few things. And given the way she was wriggling in his arms, her imagination was running along the same path. 

They danced in silence for a few minutes, the intimate seductive moment ruined. He sighed, feeling the blood rush slowly back to his brain. Now that his eyes weren’t so hazed over with desire, he noticed they had danced through the archway into the darker side room. It was empty of people, darker now without the ballroom lights and much quieter, the music and chatter muffled. Sydney must have shaken her own haze off as well, because she tensed slightly and her head lifted from his chest. Their eyes met for a brief electric second, before being pulled straight up by some unholy reasoning. Sark got a glimpse of a sprig of leaves and berries above their heads, before he lowered his chin to meet Sydney’s eyes again. 

And there went the blood, straight down as if by gravity. Oh, the lust was ready to overtake him. 

Sydney licked her lips, suddenly dry, and she saw his eyes flick down to follow her tongue. Oh Jesus she needed to get herself in control before she jumped him. The empty room setting was _not_ helping at all. “A kiss under the mistletoe,” she murmured before she could stop herself. “You know, mistletoe can be deadly if you eat it.”

He smiled slowly, his mouth curving up sensuously, elegantly. Oh, he was so ready to lead her off to his hotel room. Or a dark secluded corner would do. “True,” he managed to pant out. “But a kiss can be even deadlier, if you mean it.”

They both froze with those words, silence filling the room, the air itself seeming to stop along with time. Their eyes were locked on each other, neither person breathing, waiting for that connection that had seared through them to stop buzzing so they could break away and run from this moment. 

Sydney was the first to move, to break the electricity as she leaned her head back down to his chest, the muted music seeping back into their senses. “So Sark,” she started, then took a deep breath to calm her quivering voice. “Are you looking forward to Christmas?” And where the hell did that come from?

He narrowed his eyes slightly, not with anger, but in thought. “No,” he mused aloud. “I’m not one for the holidays.”

“And why,” _What the hell was she doing???_ , “is that?”

He slid his fingers under her chin, drew her face up until their eyes were locked once again for an intense deep moment. “I never get what I really want,” he drawled. 

“Oh,” she breathed. Oh god, she wanted to kiss him. Oh, those lips. Oh she was dying here. 

“And what about you, Sydney?” his voice lowered to a husky growl. 

“I-I-I don’t kn-know,” she stammered, her voice down to mere whispers. 

“Shame,” he smirked. 

They stood staring again, eyes never wavering from the others’. They both knew the music had stopped and that lust fueled banter that had worked them both into a frustrated frenzy that they could have ridden out for the night was quelled. They could no longer blame anything that happened on being blinded by desire. And they both needed to walk away before huge mistakes were made. 

Sark was the one who broke. “It was a pleasure, Ms. Bristow,” he spoke, stepping back and letting his hands fall from her body. God, could he really do this? Could he really walk away? Oh, the rest of the night was going to be a living hell. 

Sydney sucked in a deep breath as he turned to walk away. Jesus, he was really going to go, wasn’t he? “Wait!” she said breathlessly, her voice almost a shout in the silent room. He turned back as she stepped forward and they were so close again. Her hands closed around his jacket lapel, unconsciously. He looked almost dumbfounded. 

“What is it?” Voice low, waiting, trembling. 

Deep breath. “I just thought you should actually get something you want this year.”

No breathing. Completely still. 

She leaned in so slowly, letting her hand run up his chest, over the satiny shirt, up around the throat to curl around the back of the neck and play with the curls there. She pulled his head down, inching it along, keeping her eyes open the entire time, giving them both the chance the back out at any time. When his lips first touched hers, she cried out, a bolt of lightening shooting through her entire body and pooling all her heat between her legs. She was suddenly damp again, desire coursing through her and that ache that hadn’t been satisfied before came crashing back in full force, even stronger this time. This kiss was going to kill her. 

When she had called him back he couldn’t believe it. When he realized what she was going to do his heart had stopped. But the moment she first kissed him, his senses came alive. He let her take the lead in the kiss; after all, she had initiated it. Her other arm came around his back and pulled his entire body to hers. He rested his hands on her hips again, skimming them up and down. Oh, and every iota of desire and lust that existed in him awoke and immediately took charge of every part of his body. His brain had shut down again. 

The kiss was warm, soft and tentative at first, but it grew deeper and probing as they both drew into each other. She started with pressing her lips to his, then opening them a tiny bit to draw in his lower lip, sucking it first and then letting her teeth taste. Her tongue darted out to lick the outline of his lips, then she became bolder and delved into his mouth to taste. The Scotch that he had consumed still lingered and the sweet smooth flavour transferred into her own mouth. She made a tiny pleading sound, begging him to kiss her back. She opened her mouth wider and waited for him to give in. 

Her lips were so tender, so caressing on his own that his mind nearly exploded. He let her explore a bit before her moan crushed his reserve and he kissed back. He paid the same attention to her lips as she had with him, taking the bottom one in his teeth and nipping along gently, then soothing the bites with careful suckles. He opened his mouth and drew her tongue to his, engaging them in a furious dance. He tasted champagne and something sweet; a cookie maybe. She stroked his tongue with her own expertly and he willed himself not to sweep her deeper into his embrace, push her against the wall and _really_ kiss her, _really_ show her what he wanted. 

But the time was over and even though the kiss was sensual, caressing and welcome, she eventually realized that he wasn’t going to push it any further than this. Disappointed, she broke away, pressing one last sweet kiss, just a light feathery touch to his lips before stepping back and meeting those eyes again. She could definitely read desire, so why the hell didn’t he press her further? She knew she had to walk away, put some room between them before she _really_ attacked him, but she couldn’t do that, not yet. The hand that had been cupping the back of his neck came around to trace his cheek gently and ever so reluctantly, cursing herself with every motion, she stepped back and turned to go. 

“Sydney.” The heady richness of his voice stopped her. God, he saw those eyes, how much she wanted him, and what the hell were they doing, they both were ready to walk away from this without another thought. She turned back and he saw the jolt of fire in her eyes. _Just play the game, keep it going._ He could do this. He needed to do this. “I’m slightly disappointed, because you’re usually so perceptive. While your present was very…appreciated, it wasn’t _quite_ what I was hoping for.” He held his breath. Jesus, please let her understand what he was saying. 

She blinked. Oh. That’s how he wanted to play it, eh? She let a seductive smile curve her face and her hands came up to skim down her sides, over her hips, brushing the sensitive flare of her dress. The look in his eyes nearly scorched her skin. This was it. The point of no return. “I’m the one who was disappointed, and slightly surprised, Sark. I never took you as the type of guy who just held a present instead of unwrapping it right away.” Okay, if that wasn’t blatant as hell, she sure wasn’t going to spell it out for him. 

He had her pinned to the wall in two bounds, crushing her body tightly against his as he overtook her mouth. She kissed him passionately, hungrily, whimpers of want and need escaping when they could. He lifted her hips and set her to rest on his, pelvises locked together. Her arms were wound around his neck, clutching him so tightly; his were around her back, pawing at her as they kissed. When he broke from her mouth to let his lips travel over her neck she moaned his name throatily. “Sark. Oh, god…don’t wanna do it against a wall…” she panted. 

“You’re right,” he growled, breathing hard into the hollow of her neck. Oh sh*t, she tasted so so good, so unlike anything he had ever had before. He picked her up, carrying her as he hurriedly ran along the darkened room. He knew there were several offices that led into this room; if he could just find an unoccupied one…dear God, he almost fell over as she latched on to his neck above his collar and began to suck at his pulse. Try that doorknob…DAMN! Next one…what the FUCK was this? Okay, okay, breathe…don’t think about that hand that just slipped below your pants, here’s another doorknob…SUCCESS!

He pushed them through, and kicked the door violently closed behind them. He frantically looked around for somewhere, anywhere, he could press her down and get that fucking dress off. Couch! Yes, and it even looks somewhat comfortable. He stumbled toward it, fell at the last moment and let her slip off him and land. She squeaked and glared at him, but it was gone in a second as he jumped up and covered her body with his, capturing her lips again heatedly. His hands curved over the back of her neck, up into that perfect twist of the hair, pulled a bit and let that flowing silky mane fall over his fingers. “Sark…” she whined into his mouth. “That took me an hour!”

“Who the fuck cares?” he mumbled into her hair, kissing and smelling the sweet strands. Oh, she was so much better than he could ever imagine. He sat up, straddling her and jerked his jacket off his shoulders, tossing it somewhere into the darkness. He kicked off his shoes next, then his belt, and was nearly ready to rip off the rest of his expensive suit when her hands grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him back down to kiss him again. His hands snaked around to her back, found the zipper to that dress, and pulled down. Once it was loose around her chest, his hands came around under the material to cup those breasts and once he felt that creamy flesh under his hand, he couldn’t contain the groan of pleasure. She arched and cried out when his fingers brushed over her aroused nipples. He kissed his way down her neck, over the skin above her breasts, and he pulled the dress bodice down to her waist so he could get his first look at her naked torso. 

Sweet Jesus, she was heavenly. Her natural ivory skin was flushed red with excitement and lust. Her breasts lay perfect and heaving under him, just aching to be tasted and he gave in, letting his mouth descend on her right mound, his tongue swirling the right nipple as he sucked. Her hands buried in his hair, latching around the curls, holding him to her, grasping on as if she needed the reminder. He released her nipple when he couldn’t breathe, rained small kisses over her chest as he moved over to the breast he had been neglecting, taking that one in his mouth. He heard her pant, moan, whimper, even something akin to a growl as he played with her. Oh, it was going to kill him soon. He wanted to touch more, feel how wet and hot she was down there. His hands ran down her thighs and ripped up the dress, one hand wandering, aching to touch that nether skin…what the _fuck_? He sat up suddenly, and pulled the entire dress of her body. It would have been a perfectly erotic moment, except…

“You have got to be kidding me.” 

Pantyhose. The woman was wearing _pantyhose_. She caught the frustrated look in his eyes and she began to laugh. The silvery sound slid easily from her throat as she giggled at his plight. Her laughs turned into cries when his finger pressed hard into her. “Jesus Christ, Sark,” she groaned, closing her eyes when his thumb descended on her pulsing clitoris. The fabric between her legs was soaking wet and he used the barrier to tease her more, make her squirm a bit. Not too long though; his pants were going to rip right down the center if he kept it up much longer. 

When she made that humming noise, he gave up and ripped the hose right off her legs, shredding the delicate material. She protested weakly, “Those cost a lot of money,” but the last syllable trailed off when he pulled her damp panties aside and plunged two fingers deep into her folds. She was silent then, her mouth open around a numb cry. Oh, she was so tight around his fingers. While he worked his hand around for a bit, he bent down to kiss her again, sucking on those swollen lips. He worked down her body again, except now he took his time on certain spots, sucking harshly enough to draw the blood to the surface of her skin and leave telltale marks. Marking his territory. One on the bottom of her neck, another gracing the opposite shoulder. Four in the area of the breast: one above, underneath, between, and the final one directly on the right breast. The stomach: various little places. Underneath the bellybutton was a particularly sweet one, because he was so close to his final destination. Her hands had threaded in his hair again, but they weren’t much good for anything else; she was fairly limp under his ministrations. 

Finally, achingly, his mouth hovered over the spot he so dearly wanted to taste. He breathed hot air over her opening and felt her shiver, hearing another moan. So her vocal chords were working again. He replaced his fingers with his mouth and she jerked her hips, nearly braining him with a wayward knee. He carefully hooked his hands onto her hips, just to anchor her down a bit. He let his tongue stroke around the warm sweet flesh, plunge inside to explore as intimately as he could, then slip outside to soothe the heated skin, and begin his search for the sensitive nub to drive her wild.

Sydney writhed as much as she could under his mouth. Good lord he was an expert with that tongue. Where the hell could he learn how to do things like that? Oh, it had been so long since she had someone taste her like this, her senses overloaded and she could feel her mind and body at the precipice, with little left to push her over the edge for good. Oh, and there it was, his teeth latching on to her clit, and she came with a scream. She lay back and let her inner muscles convulse with pleasure, vibrating a sensuous hum that rocked her very core and started to spread through her entire body. She rode out the long wonderful shockwaves, Sark’s head still firmly inserted between her legs and his mouth still attached to her body, lapping at her carefully and sucking on her swollen and aroused flesh. She closed her eyes under the pressure and sighed one great heaving breath of fulfillment. 

Sark slowly raised himself up on his knees again, staring down at the trembling happy goddess. Her eyes were half open, her body completely relaxed against the couch they lay on, her legs spread open wantonly and her hands trailing softly over her breasts. The marks he had made from his sensual pathway down her torso stood out valiantly. His hands moved to his own body, started to fumble with his shirt buttons, but she sat up, her body pressed up against his and, placing her hands on his shoulders, she gave him a push, so that he flopped backwards into the cushions. She knelt up and straddled his waist, her wet center pressing down on his pant-covered erection and he felt the heat travel through the materials straight to his skin. She leaned over him and smiled wickedly. “My turn to unwrap the present,” she purred. 

She latched her lips over his neck, where she had been sucking before while he tried to find them some privacy. She nibbled and suckled until she tasted the faint bitter bite of blood, and his moan of pain spurred her downward. As she kissed and nuzzled his face, her hands undid the pearl buttons and slid the elegant material off his shoulders, down his arms, and threw it somewhere into the dark. She moved her mouth down his neck, his chest, burning the same path he had on her as her hands undid his slacks and yanked them down. Her teeth caught one taut nipple in between and tugged it harshly. He hissed in a sharp breath, wincing then sighing in relief when she let it go and swirled her tongue around the marks she had made. She repeated the same torture on his other nipple while her hands stroked his dick through his silk boxers. He thrust himself into her, wanting, needing, aching, _dying_ to be inside of her, but he let her play. 

She pulled down the boxers and one hand tossed them aside as her other wrapped around his hard-on. Oh my. He was _huge_. She’d often wondered if he was overcompensating by being the Number One bad guy around, but he _clearly_ had no issues in that area. Oh, he was going to feel so good inside of her. With that size, he would hit every nerve center and sensitive point her inner walls had. She scooted herself back a bit, shot him a naughty smile, and lowered her head, down, down, down. He froze, stopped breathing, waited to see if she’d actually have the nerve. She opened her mouth wide and flicked her tongue out, so it barely tickled the head of him. Whoops, and he jerked again, groaning, but she didn’t give him time before taking in as much of him as she could. She purred around the pulsing fleshy member, feeling the vibrations travel down his shaft and through her hands that she had wrapped around for leverage. She sucked, as if drawing on her favourite flavour of lollipop, then opened her throat and pushed his cock farther back. She had thought she would impress him with her technique (because it wasn’t like she was impressing anyone _else_ ) but she could only get about halfway before it threatened to choke her. She heard him moaning, stopping every so often to suck in a deep breath. Her head bobbed over him, one hand mimicking her mouth over the rest of his shaft and her other hand weighing his ball, jiggling them around before giving them a quick squeeze. He jolted and she felt his muscles contracting slightly, and she knew he was close. And she was ready. She thought about just straddling him right there and burying him to the hilt, but strangely, she didn’t want to be on top. She wanted Sark over her, pressing her down as he fucked her. 

Sark nearly died when she let him out of her warm mouth and sat up. Lord, he even let a tiny whimper at the loss of that erotic sensation. His hands reached out to grasp her hips, pull her over him and plunge deep into that hot center, when she moved and lay herself back, spreading her legs wide, and staring at him with those smoky glowing eyes. He sat up, knelt before her…god, he’d dreamed so much of this, and it was nothing compared to the real thing…lowered himself gently on her. He took her face in his hands and kissed her gently, sweetly. She wrapped her arms around his neck, threading her hands in his sweaty curls and he thrust himself deep into her. 

OH. GOD. 

She was so tight and hot and wet around him, her muscles clenching around his cock to pull him deeper in. He broke his mouth away from hers to let out a groaning cry, pressing his forehead to her chest. Her fingernails dug into his back, breaking the skin and he hissed at the pain. He froze, giving her time to adjust, but she immediately began to rock herself beneath him, pleading with him, and he thrust in a voracious rhythm. His hips slammed hard into hers, flesh slapping against flesh. She lifted her hips every time to meet his, so his body would brush against her hardened clit. She moaned and viciously took his mouth with hers, sucking wantonly on his bottom lip, digging her teeth in until his blood ran over her lips, making them redder and more enticing. 

He stopped moving again and, keeping himself inside her, rolled them carefully onto their sides, so her back pressed into the back of the couch. He slid one hand between her thighs and lifted the top one over his hip to give him a better angle, for deeper penetration. While he held her leg up, he started thrusting again, harder and faster. Her cries spurred him on, her head falling back and exposing that luscious neck. His lips attacked the skin there, kissing, biting, sucking hungrily. He could feel the exact moment the inner contractions started, and he pulled her head down so he could watch the pleasure spill into her face. 

Her vaginal walls clenched him in as her orgasm hit her and he was so ready, so very very close, just to spill himself into her, when some rational part of his mind managed to fight its way through the lust and remind him that he had no protection. Fuck. He clenched his jaw tight and pulled out of her reluctantly. He took his cock in his hand and pumped it, so ready to let go when her voice broke through, “Sark, what the fuck are you doing?”

He gritted his teeth. “I don’t have a condom, Sydney.”

“Who the fuck cares about that now?” Her voice had a very hysterical edge to it and her hands frantically yanked his away, guiding him back into her…no, he couldn’t.

“Sydney…” he moaned as her folds engulfed him again. She grabbed his ass cheeks and pulled his hips right up to hers, so he was buried to the hilt. “I didn’t come this far to have you back the fuck out of what you really want,” she whispered in his ear, and when she rolled her hips and licked his neck, he let himself go and came with a powerful groan. She kept rocking them slightly, pumping every drop out of him, until he collapsed into the cushions, and she fell slightly on top of him. They lay there, panting for much needed air for long fulfilling seconds, until she rolled him over onto his back, bringing herself over him straddling his hips and for some reason, still keeping his softening cock inside of her. 

Sydney placed her hands flat on his chest, leaning over him and smiling cattily. He let his hands come up and run up and down those beautifully toned arms of hers. “Well, well, who knew Sydney Bristow had it in her to fuck the enemy?” he purred teasingly. 

She just kept on smiling. “If I had known you would be this…exemplary, I would have jumped you a _long_ time ago.” She leaned down to kiss him, but instead of being fiery and passionate, it held a minute taste of sweetness and tenderness that he had not wanted to introduce and he had hoped she wouldn’t as well. He broke away, turning his head and making to get up, push her off, but she slammed him down and he saw a harder look come into her eyes. He just looked up at her, waited for her to speak. 

“I’m not so naïve to think that this was anything more than what it was,” she seethed. 

“And what was it, Sydney?”

She smirked, a familiar expression that he thought he had the rights to. “A good fuck.” She sat herself a little straighter, her hands still stroking his chest gently. “I’ve got a boyfriend, I have all the emotional intimacy I need. I’m satisfied with my life as of now; I no longer have any need to continue in this world if I really don’t want to. So don’t worry, I’m not looking for anything like that from you. But I’ll be damned if I let you get away with just this one time.”

He would have breathed a sigh of relief, but then she’d have an edge on him and he didn’t want that. “So you’re saying you want me, as much as you can get me, correct, Sydney?”

“Oh yeah. And now that I know you want me just as much,” she brushed those silky breasts over his chest as she leaned down to his face, “it just makes this a teensy bit easier.”

Yeah. Except he wasn’t sure he could keep having random fuck encounters with her and not want something more. And he doubted she possessed that kind of willpower herself; he knew that she was lying through her teeth with all the stuff she had just told him. But if this was God’s way of offering a chance with Sydney Bristow, any chance, he wasn’t going to turn it down. 

Their sensual eye fuck stare-down ended when his watch beeped. He lifted his wrist up and strained his eyes to read the small numbers. “What time is it?” she asked.

“Eleven.” 

And like that, the mission was back for both of them. Except that she buttoned his shirt up for him. And he zipped her dress up after he had pulled it over her hips. And she flattened his hair a bit, styling it smooth so it didn’t have that just-been-fucked look to it. He brushed her hair off her shoulders, running his fingers through the strands. “You’re going to have to repair that so Agent Vaughn doesn’t notice.”

“Oh shit, yeah. Almost forgot.” They cautiously opened the door and looked out to check if the room was clear. They began to walk back to the light and noise of the party, pausing once more at the mistletoe, where she would go left to the powder room and he would walk through the archway, back to mingle with the idiots. They faced each other, then she was pulling him down for one last fiery passionate kiss, her tongue stroking his in a familiar manner now. He pressed his body against hers, his arms wrapped tight around her torso. It was over too soon for both of them, stepping away to part. 

“Merry Christmas, Sark.”

“Merry Christmas, Sydney.”

**************************************

Okay, so the night wasn’t that bad, he mused as he sauntered to the bar and ordered another Scotch. He let his eyes sweep disdainfully over the people around him, now ten times more drunk and vulgar than they had been two hours ago. He spotted the contact, _finally, that fuckwit makes an appearance,_ but said to hell with the man. He’d let Sydney have this one easy this time. And fuck Sloane if he bitched about it. Sark was days away from telling the man to go do his own fucking errands, especially these kinds. 

He leaned back against the bar, sipping slowly and waited for Sydney’s reappearance. And there she was. Even though it should be evident to the entire world, no one but him noticed the change in her manner now. She walked slowly, seductively, a slight roll coming to her hips now. Her eyes and smile were lazy, glowing under the candlelight. Her skin was rosy and every movement had an ounce of flirtation to it, as if she was making love to the entire room. There she was, the prime example of a sexually satisfied woman. 

Her eyes scanned the crowd slowly, and he didn’t duck from her gaze this time, but met it head on. They had an amazing electric connection, fire zapping between them across the room, until he gestured slightly with his head at the contact and she broke the intense stare to finish her job. He watched her walk away, almost turned himself to leave, but he saw her turn back and with a wink, blew him a kiss. He smirked at her.

As he waited for his limo, he gazed at the decorated trees around the estate. Not with disgust as before, but with a sense of satisfaction and mirth. 

Christmas really wasn’t that bad after all. It just depended how you celebrated.

**Author's Note:**

> The title and the title-dropping scene (at least, the two lines of dialogue) are from Batman Returns.


End file.
